The question borders on rude, but there's something refreshing about his directness after weeks of carefully measured conversations with Roman. "It's complicated," I say, which is both truth and understatement.
"It always is with Wolfe," James agrees. "The man doesn't do simple. Word is he's been off the social circuit for months, holed up in that fortress penthouse of his. Then suddenly he appears with you on his arm." He takes a sip of his drink. "You've got the city's most exclusive circles buzzing with speculation."
I shift uncomfortably, not liking the reminder that I'm being observed and discussed by strangers. "I'm not really interested in social gossip."
"Another point in your favor," James says with a grin. "Most women in your position would be leveraging it for all it's worth.Collecting contacts, establishing themselves, preparing for the inevitable end of Wolfe's interest."
My grip tightens on my champagne flute. "What makes you think his interest has an end date?"
James's expression turns sympathetic. "Roman Wolfe doesn't do long-term, Delilah. He acquires, possesses, and eventually discards. It's his pattern in business and pleasure." He leans slightly closer. "My advice? Enjoy the luxury while it lasts, but have an exit strategy."
Something cold settles in my stomach at his words. They echo my own fears—that I'm just another acquisition for Roman, despite his intense focus and possessive behavior. That eventually, the obsession will fade, and I'll be discarded like the women James alluded to.
"You speak like you know him well," I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
"We were at school together. Not friends, exactly, but... acquainted." James's smile turns rueful. "I've seen his pattern play out enough times to recognize it. The focused pursuit, the complete possession, the eventual boredom." He takes another sip of his drink. "Though I will say, he seems particularly... invested in you. I've never seen him watch a woman the way he watches you. Like he's afraid you'll disappear if he blinks."
I follow James's gaze across the room and find Roman's eyes already on me, dark and intent despite the conversation continuing around him. A shiver runs down my spine—half apprehension, half something else I don't want to name.
"He's very protective," I say, the understatement almost making me laugh.
"That's one word for it," James murmurs. His fingers brush mine as he takes my empty champagne glass, replacing it with a fresh one from a passing waiter. "Another might be 'obsessive.'"
Our fingers touch briefly during the exchange, a casual contact that would be meaningless in any other context. But the moment it happens, I sense a shift in the air, a charge of dangerous energy. I look up to find Roman excusing himself from his conversation, his eyes fixed on the point where James's hand touched mine.
"You should probably go," I say quickly, suddenly concerned for this stranger who has no idea what he's provoked. "Roman doesn't like?—"
"Doesn't like what, Delilah?" Roman's voice cuts through the warning I was about to give. He materializes beside us, his movement so swift and silent I didn't see him approach. His hand settles possessively on the small of my back, but his eyes are on James, cold as arctic winter.
"Doesn't like being kept from the most beautiful woman in the room," I finish lamely, trying to diffuse the tension crackling in the air.
Roman's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Mr. Harrington," he acknowledges with a slight inclination of his head. "I wasn't aware you were acquainted with my Delilah."
My Delilah. The possessive pronoun hangs in the air between them, a gauntlet thrown.
"We were just introducing ourselves," James says, his casual tone belied by the wariness in his eyes. "I was telling Delilah how fortunate you are to have found her."
"Found," Roman repeats, the single word somehow imbued with menace. "An interesting choice of words. I prefer to think I recognized what was already mine." His hand slides from my back to my waist, pulling me flush against his side. "Isn't that right, darling?"
The endearment sounds strange in his mouth—too saccharine for the man I've come to know. But the intent behind it is clear: marking territory.
"Roman," I murmur, embarrassed by his display and uncomfortably aware of eyes turning our way.
He ignores my discomfort, his attention fixed on James with predatory focus. "You touched her," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft register that makes my stomach clench with anticipation. "I saw your hand on hers."
James blinks, clearly caught off guard by the direct confrontation over such a minor contact. "I was just passing her a drink," he says, raising his hands slightly in a gesture of harmlessness. "No offense intended."
"Intent is irrelevant," Roman says coldly. "Result is what matters. And the result was your hands on what belongs to me."
The naked possessiveness should offend me. It should make me pull away, assert my independence, remind Roman that I'm a person, not property. Instead, it sends a forbidden thrill through me—the knowledge that this powerful, dangerous man considers me valuable enough to guard so jealously.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," James says, his eyes flicking to mine as if seeking support. "Delilah and I were just talking."
Roman's arm tightens around my waist. "There's no misunderstanding, Harrington. You've been watching her all evening. Calculating your approach. Waiting for me to step away." His voice remains quiet, controlled, yet somehow more threatening for its restraint. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I don't catalog every pair of eyes that lingers on her?"
James takes a step back, finally recognizing the danger radiating from Roman. "Look, Wolfe, you're blowing this out of proportion. We were just having a friendly conversation."
"There is nothing friendly between men and women," Roman says with cold certainty. "There is only possession or pursuit. And you, Harrington, were pursuing what is already possessed." His free hand rises to my throat, fingers brushing the diamondsthere in a gesture that's both tender and territorial. "Completely possessed."
